


The Night Of Tears

by Cozy_coffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Dark, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Serial Killer Dean, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/pseuds/Cozy_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the spnkink_meme prompt; Okay, I’m going to Hell for this but whatever. Can someone write a weecest fic where Dean drugs Sam and then fucks him; would prefer dub-con, like Sam wanted it, he’s been lusting after his big brother for weeks , but he didn’t want his first time to be when he was drunk and couldn’t remember what happened. Hope some writer has the balls to fill this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Of Tears

She looked at Sam. That was her crime, and for it, she paid the ultimate price. Her life was taken from her in the night, ruby red blood recoloring her server uniform while her final gasp shuddered from her pink lips and into the frosty winter air in a dim back street.  
Sam ought to run. 

Dean cautioned him, instructed him to stay far, far away, yet Sam couldn't escape for the slopes; he adores his sibling, worships Dean, put his saint up on a platform and kneels before him. It was disgusting and sinful; however, Sam is aroused and helpless to deny his feelings. He is sixteen and in love with his lethal brother. He doesn’t bother to run away, didn’t listen to Dean when his big brother said he was a sick, twisted mess of perverted fetishes. 

The morning sun is shining like a red rubber ball, and the air between them is filled with heated kisses and needy whimpers. Dean’s hand is warm and still wet with her blood when his fingers encases Sam’s dick, and Sam should flee, should run far, far away from his twisted brother, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves closer, clings to Dean’s leather jacket as his brother strokes him with talented fingers—fingers able to wield a blade or bring him pleasure. He nuzzles his big brother’s neck, he moans, louder, harsher, his body trembling with arousal. 

He knows about Dean's sick fetishes, his big brother had not held his tongue on nights he was drunk. Drugged sex, taken against his will; forced to lay there and take it, helpless. Dean was all sorts of messed up. 

Sam wanted Dean, had been lusting after him for so long, but when he thinks of their first time together, he shivers with the thought of being hazy, lost in a fog, unable to stop Dean for doing anything he wanted. He should flee, run so far away Dean will never find him, but Sam remains, ground by lust and fear and desire. 

Dean barely gets in a handful of strokes before Sam is coming, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he dampens Dean’s blood soaked hand. Dean is rumbling into his ear, possessive growls and snarling heat, “will kill ‘em all Sammy; I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me, little brother. You’re mine. My good little fuck-toy.”

Sam knows he should turn Dean in to the police, should seek salvation away from his evil brother, but part of him gets a sick thrill from all the evil Dean does. He loves that Dean kills for him, that he is so possessive. Yet a part of him is still fearful of his wicked brother. All the sensations leave him moaning louder and clinging to his big brother, fingers knotted into the worn brown leather. 

Sam is still shaking when Dean’s hand, sticky with cum and blood, pats his cheek. He leans into the touch, sniffing the wet flesh for his brother’s scent. The smell sicken him, make his stomach churn, but it also adds to make his little boy cock dribble droplets of milky white wetness. 

When Dean palms his cheeks, smears blood and cum across Sam’s rosy red skin, the younger teen moans softly as his big brother kisses him passionately. He shivers in fear when Dean bites his lip, draws blood. He doesn’t pull away in disgusts, but he does not. Sam opens his mouth, lets Dean’s tongue brushes over his lips. He gives in, submits. 

Dean pulls back, stands tall and towers over him, smirking something evil. Sam trembles, but easily follows after Dean when his brother heads to the car. 

They get out of town quickly, the waitress is found in the morning, but they are already two states over. 

For two days life suddenly returns to the Winchester lifestyle. Dean gets lost in a simple salt and burn, dad stays long enough to pat him on the back with a prideful smile, and Sam lingers close by, fearful and yet aroused by his lethally brother. 

Dean cannot be all bad, right? Surly, he would not really hurt Sam, would he? The younger boy pounders that questions, believes no, Dean is all talk. He would hurt everyone and anyone, but not Sam. Dean would never drug him; never take him against his will. Dean would be sweet and gentle and loving. 

That night, while John was out, he got his answer. 

Sam was lost in a haze. His mind was fuzzy and his head was swimming, and his entire body felt warm and tranquil, his muscles relaxed and loose. He felt so astonishingly good, like waking up after a long, pleasant, restful sleep—except he was extremely sleepy, his eyelids heavy and his gaze unfocused, his mind trying to slip into the realm of darkness. 

Sam sank into the mattress with a heavy sigh, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to stay awake. Everything around him seemed pleasant and wonderful and he felt almost as if he were floating. The glass he held was taken from him and then the bed dripped slightly and hands were on him chest, rough palms pushing up under his t-shirt and caressing him, touching him with a light brush of fingertips. “D-Dean?” 

“Shh, it’s alright, Sammy.” The words were kind and tender, yet something in the tone was dark, deadly. Lips, so soft and lush, followed the path of the palms, pressing against his chest and they felt glorious, wet and warm, and sweet on his skin. Sam signed softly and stretched out on the bed; he felt amazing and everything around him felt so damn good as well, and the hands and lips on his chest were kindly sweet and warm, and soothing. 

Everything was perfect then suddenly things changed abruptly. The hands slid lower and fingers began to work open his jeans, and that wasn’t right; something was wrong. “Dean, what...” Hands slipped into his boxers and caressed his balls, massaging them as fingers wrapped around his soft cock. 

Wrong, something was very incorrect. What had been in his drink? Why were things turning blurry so fast? Sam’s eyes wouldn’t focus and the darkness was now forcefully pulling at him, and he fought to stay awake, but the warmth and comfort felt good and he wanted to surrender to him. “Dean, please…no, no stop.” 

“Shh, it’s okay, Sammy.” Those words again, still very loving and gentle, whispered kindly to him as the hands forcefully pulled down his jeans and boxers, and spread his legs apart. “You want this; I know you do, little brother. Just lay back and let me take care of you, let me give you want you want.” 

Sam made a noise of denial, even as his cock twitched. Yes, he wanted Dean, but not like this. He tried to twist away but his body wouldn’t cooperate, his limbs too relaxed and sluggish, and one strong, firm hand on his chest held him still. 

His eyes were blurry and glassy, and the darkness was dragging him under, and Sam whimpered, “Dean, please, no,” but it was too late. The blackness consumed him and the last words he heard before he was lost were, “It’s alright, Sammy. Shh, little brother, sleep now. Everything will be alright, and in the morning you won’t remember anything.” 

That was partly a lie; Sam did remember, but only tiny bits and pieces. He remembered waking up a few times, conscious only for a few seconds; he felt warm flesh thrusting in and out of him, thick and long, spreading him wide open. He remembered kisses and caress, and the sound of Dean’s possessive growls rumbling in his ears, ‘Your mine, Sammy. My pretty fuck toy. No one else can have you, will kill 'em all. You belong to me, Sammy.’ 

Sam wanted the intimacy with Dean, for Dean to be his first, but he didn’t want it like that—not with him fading in and out of conscious and with the drugs in his system keeping him docile, forcing him to lay there and take it, unable to move. Dean had taken his virginity…and Sam barely even remembered it happening. 

That next morning, Sam sat at the table, eyes wet with tears. When Dean strolled through the motel door, bloody from another kill, knife still in hand, he said nothing. Merely sobbed into his hands as his big brother smiled darkly and softly kissed his forehead. 

♥ END ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [Written for this prompt!](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/78939.html?thread=28613979#t28613979)


End file.
